The Tracker

by Leslie Georgeson

She nodded slowly. “The bounty on your head. You want it gone.”

  Of course, I did. I would never be free until that bounty went away.

  “Yeah.”

  She looked away with a soft sigh. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something about that.” She paused. “Can’t your friend The Hacker erase the bounties somehow?”

  I snorted. “He already has, many times, but as soon as he erases them, they put them back up. It’s a continuous battle that we’ll never win. And there’s no way we can travel from building to building all over the country and remove all of the paper flyers that are posted everywhere. It would be impossible. That’s why we stay hidden. It’s all we can do.”

  She was silent a moment. “I would do it for you if I could. I would travel everywhere and take down every wanted poster of the dregs. Every last one.”

  Warmth filled my chest. I could see her doing that. She was sweet.

  I didn’t respond, my throat too tight to get any words out.

  Her arms tightened around me. “Would you tell me about your escape now? It’s going to drive me crazy until you tell me what happened.”

  I chuckled. “You know curiosity killed the cat.”

  She laughed and smacked my arm. Something inside my chest loosened. Being with her, talking with her, felt so damn good. No one had ever made me feel like this before. Like I was somebody special.

  I gave in, wanting to hold onto this moment for as long as I could.

  “It’s tradition that after each ‘discharge ceremony’ the discharges are lined up and slaughtered. They’re never allowed to leave. They discharge us, then kill us. We’re not supposed to be allowed out in society, because we’re too dangerous. But I decided a few days before the discharge ceremony that I wasn’t going down like that. I was going to fight back. And I convinced the other dregs to join me in a rebellion. Three of the dregs died that day. The rest of us escaped.”

  She was silent a moment, absorbing that. “That’s terrible. Assholes!”

  I chuckled softly. Then sobered. The truth was that most of the dregs probably didn’t belong in society. We were dangerous. Unpredictable. Fucked up in the head. If one of us lost it and went on a rampage, innocent people could be hurt. Innocent people like Jessica.

  I pushed the gas, sending the bike forward again.

  After another moment of silence, she said, “What if the city needs you to help fight this war? What if you can save lives?”

  I snorted in derision. “I don’t save lives. I take them.”

  That shut her up. I immediately regretted saying that, because I liked listening to her talk, I liked hearing her voice. And now she was silent.

  Dumbass.

  We headed down another street, and another. Very few people were about. Several military personnel were here and there, patrolling the area, but not many regular civilians. I didn’t detect any threats as we slowly turned down another street. Maybe the military’s presence had forced the gangs to pull back. Right now, there appeared to be a temporary peace. But there was no telling when the violence might erupt again.

  “Why are there bounties on your heads?” Jessica broke the silence again. “Is it because your employer failed to exterminate you when they had a chance, so they’re letting others do the dirty work now?” Her question pulled my attention away from my surroundings for a moment.

  “Yeah. A lot of people want us dead. It’ll only be a matter of time before someone finds our hideout.”

  “My lips are sealed,” she promised. “They could torture me, and I’d never tell.”

  My lips twitched. That was good to know. Though I had no doubt she wouldn’t be able to withstand a single round of interrogations. She wasn’t cut out for that. It would break her in a heartbeat.

  She grew silent as we neared the part of the city where I needed to check out the lead. I brought the bike to a stop near an older apartment building in downtown Augusta. Not one person was about. Anywhere. Which made me wary.

  I glanced up at the building. Eight stories. Gunner’s penthouse was on the eighth floor. Gunner dealt in drugs, guns and sex. He was the leader of a powerful black gang called the Rapsters. His gang had overtaken the building and he now resided on the eighth floor. I’d been told that Jessica’s sister had been seen in Gunner’s company three nights ago. Now that it was daylight, and Gunner was probably passed out from a night of drugs and who knew what else, it was time to pay him a visit. Jessica would probably be safer outside, but if I let her out of my sight, then I couldn’t protect her. So, she would have to come with me.

  We dismounted and I removed my helmet and hung it over the handlebars. Pulling the .38 from my boot, I released the safety. Jessica’s eyes widened.

  “You have a gun?”

  I cocked a brow. “Of course, I have a gun. And a knife. I don’t usually need weapons other than my own body, but this is a dangerous place we’re entering. There’s bound to be armed men. I might need something other than myself to protect you.”

  She nodded and set her helmet on the back of the bike.

  “Stay close,” I ordered, then headed for the building.

  Jessica stuck to me like glue, following close at my heels.

  We went in the door and up the stairs.

  People sprawled out in various sleeping positions along the stairwell. Some huddled together beneath thin blankets, others passed out in groups, coming off a high from either drugs or alcohol or both. Others appeared to be transients just trying to find a place to sleep.

  Sizing them up and deeming them harmless, I continued up.

  Second floor.

  Third.

  Fourth.

  Jessica huffed and puffed behind me, obviously not having as much stamina as me.

  She fell behind, pausing to catch her breath.

  “Keep up,” I grumbled, turning back to her.

  She leaned against the stairwell and gasped in deep breaths. “How do you climb so fast with your injured leg?”

  As if my thigh needed to be reminded that it hurt, it suddenly started to throb. Damn. I ignored it and turned away. “The dregs are taught to ignore pain and move forward. Let’s go.”

  I went up the next flight with her trailing behind me. Just as I reached the landing, a vision flashed through my mind: a young girl with dark hair, sobbing quietly in what looked like this same stairwell, while two men shoved her forward up the stairs. She was a slightly younger version of Jessica.

  Eliza.

  She’d been here. Finally, I’d caught a trace of her. Before I could focus more deeply on the vision, try to zero in on her location, a soft scream jerked me out, pulling me back to the present.

  I spun around.

  A scruffy-looking black man in faded denims and a dirty brown hoodie had Jessica pinned back against him with a knife against her throat.

  “Thought you could get away from me, bitch? Think again.”

  I narrowed my gaze, noting the wildness in the stranger’s eyes. He was high on something. Was he a gang member or just an opportunist? My gut told me the latter.

  Did he think Jessica was her sister, Eliza?

  Or was there something Jessica hadn’t told me?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jessica

  The man pressed the knife into my throat and I felt an instant sting.

  He’d cut me, the bastard. A tiny trickle of blood slid down my neck.

  My heart raced.

  Don’t panic. Don’t freak out. Hold still.

  I jerked my gaze to Tracker, who eyed us from the stairs above, a good six or seven feet away. His face was expressionless, giving no clue as to his thoughts. Would he save me? Or would he let the man drag me off to do nefarious things to me?

  If I’d been paying more attention while following Tracker instead of ogling his firm ass, then maybe I would have heard the man sneaking up behind me.

  “You know this guy?” Tracker asked, never taking his eyes off the stranger. I couldn’t speak or even move with t
he knife shoved roughly against my throat, so I just stared at Tracker, hoping he would get me away from the man before it was too late.

  My attacker dragged me backward two steps, away from Tracker. “She’s mine!” he shouted. “Back off!”

  Tracker quirked a brow. “Yours? Since when?”

  The stranger yanked me back another step. “She’s mine, I tell ya. I found her.”

  Tracker lifted the gun and pointed it at the man’s head. “No one has the right to own another person. Do you want to die today? If you don’t let her go, you’re going to die.”

  The man glanced nervously around the stairwell. Other people had been awakened by the commotion and were slowly rising and staring at us. He pressed the knife tighter against me. More blood dripped down my neck. I tried to hold as still as possible. One wrong move and he could end my life.

  “If you shoot me, she’ll die, too. I’ll slice her throat.”

  “Maybe,” Tracker conceded. “But I’m not a regular guy. When I aim, I shoot to kill. You’ll be dead before your knife does any damage.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “Do you know who I am?”

  The man swallowed hard behind me. “A big guy with a gun?” He let out a nervous laugh.

  Tracker’s gaze shifted around the stairwell, taking in our audience. “They call me The Tracker.” He spoke loudly and clearly so everyone could hear. “Ever heard of me?”

  The man went still behind me. The hand holding the knife shook slightly. He was scared. Good.

  “You’re a dreg,” someone behind me called out. A male voice. “I would let her go, Jermaine. This guy’s a dreg. A killer.”

  The man—Jermaine—swallowed hard behind me. “I don’t care who you are. She’s mine and I’m taking her with me.” He yanked me back another step, dragging me down the stairs.

  Tracker didn’t move. “Last chance.” His voice was cold and menacing. As I stared into his icy gray eyes, I believed wholeheartedly that he was a killer.

  “Close your eyes, Jess.”

  I did as he ordered, knowing what was coming. Then the shot rang out, a loud boom in the stairwell.

  I flinched.

  People screamed and scrambled away.

  Jermaine’s body tumbled backward, falling away from me. The knife dropped beside him with a clang. I opened my eyes, my gaze immediately locking on Tracker’s. I gulped in air and hurried up the stairs toward him. I didn’t look back, not wanting to see the man’s body on the bottom of the stairs behind me. I had no doubt Tracker had shot him in the head. Just inches away from me.

  I trembled, my shock dissipating as the horror of what had just happened slammed into me. With a sob, I flung my arms around Tracker’s waist and held on tight. He’d saved me. He was a hero. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

  He stiffened, then stepped back, forcing me away from him. “We’ll have to come back later. We’ve lost our element of surprise. And I just announced to the entire building who I am. Not the smartest thing I’ve done, but I had hoped it would scare him into letting you go. Greedy opportunists will be showing up. We have to go. Now.” His gaze swept the stairwell again, taking in all the staring faces. “You’ve all seen it with your own eyes,” he told our audience. “I am a killer. And if any of you talk about my being here, I’ll come back and kill you, too.” Then he went back down the stairs, passing everyone, his gaze cold, sizing them all up as he moved past. People stepped aside respectfully, some in fear, allowing him to pass, whispering amongst themselves. No one wanted him to kill them. But I doubted they’d stay quiet for long. As soon as we left, they would chatter about what had just happened.

  I raced after him, embarrassed that I’d hugged him. And hurt that he’d pushed me away so quickly, like he hadn’t wanted me to touch him. I hadn’t meant to hug him like that. It had been an instinctive reaction. He’d saved me, and I’d run to him, craving comfort from my savior. I kept my gaze averted as I passed Jermaine’s body, then followed Tracker outside to the motorcycle.

  “How’s your neck?” He gently tilted my head to the side and inspected the injury. “Just a slim cut. It’s already stopped bleeding. You’ll live.”

  That was good to know, though it still stung a little.

  Tracker slid his sunglasses on and started the engine. We donned our helmets. I settled behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. Then we raced away.

  No one spoke for the first few minutes, then he asked gruffly, “Who was that guy? Did you know him?”

  I forced my shaking limbs to relax and answered. “No, I think he mistook me for Eliza. He must have been the one who kidnapped her.”

  Tracker grunted. “Next time, pay attention to your surroundings. The situation could have escalated out of my control. People were coming up the stairs. You could have died.”

  Heat washed into my cheeks. Feeling chastised, I lifted my chin, overcome with the desire to defend myself. “Well, pardon me for staring so hard at your firm ass. I couldn’t help it if I was so distracted.”

  I watched in fascination as color crept up his neck into his face. Good, I’d embarrassed him.

  Take that!

  He cleared his throat. “Always pay attention to your surroundings. Don’t ever let anything distract you. It could mean the difference between life and death.”

  My own cheeks heated. He was right. I could have died. I probably would have if he hadn’t been there to save me. “I’m sorry. I really am serious about finding Eliza. I would do anything for her. She’s all I have.”

  He didn’t speak for a long moment, then he murmured, “Just be grateful you have someone.”

  My heart pinched as I thought of Tracker all alone, with no one except his dreg brothers, his entire life.

  “I got my first visual on your sister.”

  What? He had? Where? When?

  “Where is she?” I asked eagerly. “I didn’t see her anywhere.”

  A moment of silence passed while I sensed he was choosing his words carefully. “The reason I always ask for a photograph when I’m tracking someone is because I have the ability to lock onto an image and then locate that person through their image. The reason it has taken me so long to find Eliza is because you didn’t have a photo of her, so the only thing I could do so far was ask questions about her and try to use your image as a visual. But back in the stairwell of that building, I had a sudden vision of her being shoved up the stairs by two black men. Before I could focus in on it, I heard you scream, and then I lost that brief connection.”

  My breath caught. Eliza had been there, in that stairwell? Where was she now? Was she okay?

  My heart squeezed. I sucked in a breath.

  Oh Eliza, I’m coming for you. I promise. Just hang in there.

  How did Tracker see her in a vision?

  “Are you psychic or something?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what it is, exactly. But I guess it is some kind of psychic ability. Once I get a visual of my target, I can generally zero in on that person like a laser beam. I will usually get a flash of where that person is or recently was, which helps me to locate them. If I can’t locate them with a photo, then I can sometimes get a read on them by visiting a place they were at recently, which was probably why I had that brief vision of her back at that building. She’s been there. If we want to find Eliza, I’m going to have to go back to that building, back to that stairwell, and try to find her in a vision again.”

  Wow. That was…fascinating. He was fascinating.

  “That’s amazing,” I whispered, meaning it. Now I understood why he was the best tracker around. Hearing about his incredible ability made me like him that much more. Tracker was a special guy. Unique.

  We reached the military guard outside of the city and Tracker waved at the blond sergeant on duty, who let us pass without stopping us.

  Minutes later, we were back on the freeway heading west toward Eatonton and the underground maze in the forest. Neither of us spoke and we passed only min
imal traffic on the way back. I couldn’t imagine very many people wanting to go into Augusta right now.

  About an hour later, Tracker slowed the bike and glanced back at me.

  “There’s a road block up ahead. It’s not military. I don’t like the looks of it. It could be bounty hunters or even one of the gangs. It looks like four guys with guns. Hold on tight and be prepared for anything. We may have to make a run for it.”

  I swallowed hard and lifted my head, trying to see around him and what was up ahead.

  Tracker reached the road block and drew the bike to a halt in front of a group of mean-looking assholes with rifles pointed at us. They all wore navy blue bandannas around their heads and black leather jackets, which led me to believe they were members of a gang. I tightened my arms around his waist, fearing what was about to happen.

  “Where you headed?” an ugly guy with a goatee asked as he chewed on a huge wad of gum.

  Tracker shrugged. “Down the road.”

  Another man with shaggy blond hair sniggered, lifting his rifle and pointing it into Tracker’s face. “We’re looking for a man called The Tracker. You seen him? We were told he was spotted in Augusta with a dark-haired woman a little over an hour ago and that they raced away on a motorcycle.” The man’s gaze shifted to me, eyeing my dark hair that stuck out underneath the helmet. He glanced back at Tracker. “Take off the helmet and those shades so we can see your face.”

  The other two men stepped forward, pointing their guns at us. Tracker’s entire body stiffened against me, his muscles hardening into stone. I tensed in response, fear clenching my gut. This was it, then. They were going to kill him. They were probably trying to collect on the bounty. And I’d have no one to help me find my sister.

  “You think I’m The Tracker?” Tracker’s words were cold, laced with steel.

  The men all exchanged glances, then the one with the goatee lifted a piece of paper. “It says here The Tracker is six-two with black hair and gray eyes.”

  Tracker snorted softly. “That could be hundreds of people.”

  Goatee Guy shook the paper at him. “The Tracker has a bounty on his head. A hundred grand to whoever brings him in alive. So, if I stop everyone who matches his description, I might get lucky.” He motioned to Tracker. “Take off the helmet and remove those shades or we’ll do it for you.”